


Under the Same Sky

by istra_cor



Series: Enamore [5]
Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, First Meetings, Zen | Hyun Ryu's Route
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-30
Updated: 2017-03-31
Packaged: 2018-10-13 00:01:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10502223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/istra_cor/pseuds/istra_cor
Summary: MC decides to check in on Zen, who is depressed after injuring his ankle, but dreams about her husband who died.





	1. A Dream

**Author's Note:**

> Based on events of Day 8 of the Mystic Messenger Zen good ending route.

_To: Jo Ann Valle (j.valle@lawschool.edu.ph)_

_From: Dr. Mara Claire Valle-Scott (dr.mc.valle@email.com)_

_Hey Jo,_

_It’s only 6 A.M. here so I didn’t want to wake you._

_I had a dream about Jim last night. It felt real, like we were actually together. He was smiling. I thought my heart would burst! I was just so happy to see him I started crying in my dream._

_He held his arms out and I flew into them._

_He hugged me just like he used to, with my face pressed against his chest. I squeezed him so tightly and didn’t want to let go._

_He didn’t say anything, but kissed the top of my head._

_Why did it feel like he was saying goodbye?_

_Then… he disappeared._

_I ached so, so much. I knew that he was gone._

_I woke up and my pillow was wet with tears._

_I’m going for an early run._

_Talk to you later._

_Love,_

_MC_

* * *

I run farther than usual till I am exhausted, and I have to slow to a walk a few blocks before reaching the apartment. My phone buzzes. It’s Jo. I keep walking and pick up.

“Hey, kid,” she greets affectionately. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” I reply. She is silent, and I know Jo is waiting for me to continue. “I had a dream last night, about Jim.”

“I read your email,” Jo replies softly.

I reach the apartment and tap the code in as fast as I can before the tears blur my vision, wrenching the door open and shutting it quickly behind me. I am now crying openly, my breaths coming in great, deep, wracking sobs, and I lean against the wall for support.

Eventually, I am able to take a few calming breaths. “Oh, Jo, I miss him so much!” I say plaintively.

“I know,” she says simply, then asks, “Isn’t this the first time you’ve dreamt about Jim since he died?”

“Yes,” I confirm. After a moment, I add, “It felt real. I mean--I still knew, while I was dreaming, that he’d died. I was just so very happy we were together." My voice dropped to a whisper, like a secret I was sharing. "He held me just like he used to. I didn’t want it to end. And then… he said goodbye. I don’t know how else to explain it.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t,” Jo suggests. “Just take it for what it is.”

“Yeah,” I agree.

“How is Zen doing?” she asks, deftly changing the subject.

I check the chatroom. “Still miserable. I think I’ll visit him,” I decide. “Double-check that his ankle is healing well.”

Jo laughs. “Somehow I knew you were going to do that.”

“I also need to make sure he’s eating properly,” I add. I give her the rundown on my conversation with Zen last night, though I leave out the part where he mentioned living together. I'm not sure who would get more excited about the notion, me or her, but I doubt her excitement would be in Zen's favor.

“Tsk, tsk. Smoking _and_ drinking,” Jo says blandly. “So not your type.”

I roll my eyes though she can’t see me. “Yeah, whatever. I’m going to _visit_  to cheer him up, Jo. It's not a date.”

“Of course, of course,” she replies airily. “Well, have fun  _visiting._ ”


	2. Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> MC arrives at Zen's apartment, where they spend the evening getting to know each other.

“Miss MC?” the neatly-uniformed driver asks, bowing slightly.

“Yes,” I reply, returning his bow. "Did Jumin send you?” I ask. I have just arrived at the 73 building and he was parked prominently at the curb.

 _“Ye,_ Miss. I am Driver Kim.” He holds the limo door open and I slip into the back seat. When he shuts the door, the noise outside is pleasantly muted. I need to thank Jumin for such a luxurious ride. Driver Kim slides into his seat with an economy of movement, and smoothly joins ongoing traffic. We are on our way.

“Do you know our destination, Mr. Kim?” I ask. He nods confidently. “Will it take long to get there?”

“Not long, Miss,” he replies.

I incline my head in acknowledgement, and check my phone. Zen has just logged back on. He sounds excited for my arrival, though apparently I’m not his only visitor today. Echo Girl came to see him and he’s not losing the part after all; apparently she’s a big fan of his and asked her father to create the show specifically to co-star with Zen.

I had looked Echo Girl up after Zen had first announced he was doing this show with her, and I have to own up to feelings of insecurity. She has big blue eyes, lustrous brown hair, and prominent curves in all the right places.

I take a deep breath and check my reflection to make sure my hair isn’t all tangled up from my brisk walk from the apartment. Yup, I’m nervous. I pull down the front and smooth the skirt of the light day dress I chose. I tuck Jim’s ring, dangling from a chain at my neck, away into the top.

Soon, Driver Kim is already parking, and I have a brief, irrational flash of wanting to run away. I shake my head to get rid of the thought--really, after so much trouble for Jumin and Jaehee? The door opens from the outside, and I swing my feet out onto the curb. Driver Kim gestures toward an ordinary-looking residential building in front of us, and pulls the entrance door open for me. We take a few steps down towards a basement apartment. There is a doorbell button by the entrance.

I push the button, and hear a chime inside the apartment, followed by the sound of a slightly hurried crutch-assisted shuffle. A familiar voice says, “Yes?” as the door swings open, and a tall, lean muscular creature with fair hair, supported on a pair of crutches, is framed in the doorway.

“I’ve brought her following Mr. Han’s orders,” Driver Kim says to Zen, bowing slightly. “He has told me to bring her back in two hours, so I will be waiting out in front.”

A smile lights up Zen’s face as he sees me, and he steps back from the doorway slightly, pulling the door open wider so I can step into his apartment. “MC! Nice to meet you!” he says brightly. Turning back to Kim, he says, “Oh, Driver? You can ignore what Jumin said. We’ll have fun and call you when we’re finished. Bye!”

“Excuse me?” Driver Kim protests. I shoot the driver an apologetic glance as the door slams shut in his face. “But--”

“Hey, MC,” Zen says in greeting. He pivots with his crutches and lopes towards a small living room, eyeing his apartment critically. “I’m sorry I don’t have much in the house.”

“Is it okay to ignore what Driver Kim said?” I wonder aloud, looking dubiously towards the door while following Zen in.

He waves dismissively. “It’s fine, fine.” He turns to look at me in earnest with rose-colored eyes, even more striking than in photos, and speaks first. “Wow… You’re very pretty, MC. Your eyes are so bright.” I laugh lightly, because I had been admiring his eyes too. “I really wanted to see you,” he says earnestly, his gaze almost burning. “I mean it.”

I feel my face flush, but I want to match his honesty. “I wanted to see you too,” I confess. I break into a grin. “You were right, you know. You’re much more handsome in person.”

He chuckles. He glances toward the window, where Jumin's car is visible. “I don’t want to let you go,” he says suddenly.

“Silly Zen,” I say, shaking my head. “I just got here.”

“You can’t live here, can you?” he asks.

“‘Fraid not,” I reply. I make my way slowly around the room, acquainting myself with it. There’s a guitar and a keyboard in the corner; I run my fingers over the keys.

His eyes follow me. “I’ve never been so happy to see someone at my house. I have so many things I want to show you. First, what do you want to drink? Should we sit down and talk?” He continues to throw out one idea after another so quickly that it's dizzying. “If you’re bored, we can play games. Or later, do you want to go shopping for groceries? It’s uncomfortable for me to walk so I can’t go by myself.”

Water and alcohol, I think. “Alright, I’ll help you,” I offer. “Why don’t we go now?”

“Really? I’m so excited to go grocery shopping together!”

I wait while he struggles to put his right shoe on, and pick up the post-op shoe that had been left by the door, easily slipping it over his cast and adjusting the Velcro straps. He gives me a bit of a puzzled look as I do so, but accepts the help, and we make our way out of the building. Driver Kim raises a brow as we pass him, waiting by the car. Zen lopes along as gracefully as I’ve ever seen anyone do so in crutches. I notice that he turns heads as we’re walking, and I squash a brief pang of jealousy.

Zen is familiar with the store so we find ingredients easily. I make a point of getting him enough fixings for at least a couple of meals, and we head back. He makes tea and we take it to the living room, where he props his cast up on an oval coffee table.

“How is your ankle feeling?” I ask.

“Fine,” he replies.

“Do you mind if I take a look?” I incline my head towards the cast.

He shrugs. “Not really, but why?”

I put my tea down. “Oh, I have some experience with things like this,” I say nonchalantly. I check the padding and the cast, which seem to be in good shape. I inspect his toes, visible at the lower end of the cast, pressing on each toe, watching each blanch and then return quickly to its normal pink color.

He wiggles his toes slightly. “You do?” I nod, now pulling his pant leg up to check the rest of the cast just below the knee. “Are you a nurse, MC?”

I shake my head. “Nope. Doctor.”

“You’re a doctor?” he asks incredulously.

“Yep,” I say matter-of-factly. Satisfied with my inspection, I pull his pant leg down back over the cast.

He runs a ran through his hair and looks a bit uncomfortable. “You’re rich, then?”

I shake my head. “I’m just a poor resident.”

“Resident?” he asks.

“It’s what we’re called during the years of specialty training after medical school,” I explain. “I believe the title came from the time when doctors in training actually lived in the hospital. Of course sometimes it _feels_ like I practically live there, though technically I don’t. I’ve already graduated from school and earned my degree, so I’m 'Doctor' even though I’m not in practice yet.”

“Ah,” he nods in understanding, relaxing visibly. “So, Doctor MC, how is my ankle?”

“Looks good to me,” I reply.

“Cool. I plan to ask my doctor to take the cast off tomorrow.”

I raise a brow. “Could you tell me about that? Your friends mentioned your arm healed in two days when you broke it before.” He nods. “How is that possible? It usually takes six weeks for an adult fracture to heal.”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. I just heal fast.”

I shake my head disbelievingly. “Maybe you’re a mutant,” I suggest.

He grins. “Of course! Where do you think these incredible good looks come from?”

I laugh inspite of myself. “Yet no girlfriend?” I ask. Darn, that slipped out. I want to know why.

He shrugs. “I haven’t met the right person,” he explains. “Girls like me because I'm handsome, but I want to be liked for being myself and not just how I look.”

"Like with work," I speculate.

He nods, agreeing. Zen tells me about the last time he dated seriously, about four to five years ago. Two girls who were best friends became rivals for his affections, and he decided against pursuing relationships with either of them.

I log into the chatroom while he gets more tea. Jumin reminds me that he sent me to convince Zen to model for his cat food line. I roll my eyes at that, but start to believe that Zen could stand to be nicer to Jumin, whom he blames for his injury. It's thanks to Jumin that I'm here, after all.

Zen comes back with the tea, sets it down, then picks up his phone. He snorts in annoyance and plops back into the chair. “Jumin--that jerk, he’s provoking me again. He’s not wrong that I never discriminated against him, but it still pisses me off. I still get angry when I think about how much pain I was in because of him. I never want to help him.” I decide not to point out that he seems to have no problem accepting Echo Girl’s offer, as he is in a full-on rant. “I ended up straining myself during practice because of what he said two days ago… It’s my fault”--good start, acknowledging his own responsibility--”for falling into his trap.” Huh? Trap? “But shouldn’t he feel at least a bit guilty? I hate that he always messes with me about cats.”

“I’m sure he doesn’t mean harm,” I offer.

“Is that what you think?” He considers this for a moment, leaning back into the chair. “He just… annoys me for some reason.” He hesitates, then continues. “To be honest… I admit that it wasn’t like me to accept Echo Girl’s suggestion. I’m always wary of rich people offering me kindness.”

My brow wrinkles slightly. “Why?”

Zen takes a deep breath. “This is only between you and me, but… it’s because my brother was kind of like that.” His tone is careful, guarded. I realize he probably hasn’t talked about this a lot.

“What was your brother like?” I ask gently.

“My brother is… an elitist. He always emphasized that I have to make compromises with the world.” Zen’s voice is distant. “Jumin’s not like him,” he admits, “but he treats me in a similar way. That’s why I don’t like him.”

Understanding dawns on me. “That’s why you asked earlier, when you found out I was a doctor, whether I was well-off.”

Zen nods. “When we were little, we were so close… but now I don’t even talk to him.” He is so sad that I’m tempted to reach over and squeeze his hand. Then he seems to shake it off. “I’ll tell you about my brother later,” he promises, then brightens at a thought. “So… you’re staying for dinner, right?”

I glance at the windows; daylight is fading. “Sure,” I say, picking my teacup up for another sip.

“And you can…” His eyes light up mischievously, “even stay the night!”

I choke, sputter, and have a coughing fit that sprays spots of tea all over my skirt. I grab a napkin; Zen makes a crutch-slowed dash for paper towels. We try to clean up, but my dress is a tea-spotted mess. “Oooooh-kay," I say to no one in particular. Great, just great. "Zenny,” I plead, ”could you please not do that?”

“Do what?” he asks. “Tell you how I’m feeling? That’s okay, right?”

“Well, yes,” I reply. “But, I… Can you maybe slow things down? I’m having trouble keeping up.”

He must see the hesitation in my expression. “Don’t worry, please,” he reassures me. “I swear I won’t do anything weird to you.” He holds up his hands as if in surrender. “It’s just that it’s getting dark and I’ll get worried... I’d rather you sleep here and leave tomorrow morning.”

“Zen,” I sigh. “Driver Kim will take me home.”

He nods. “I know, but he won’t be able to bring you all the way back to your apartment. I’ll worry. And… I want you to stay here longer.”

I smile at his concern. “I’m in a nice part of town, Zen. It’ll be okay. And I'll stay a bit longer."

“I’ll try not to worry, then,” he accedes. His face splits into a grin. ‘I’m so excited right now.” He grabs his crutches and eases out of the chair, heading for the kitchen. “I’ll cook dinner for you, MC. My ankle may be useless, but I can at least cook.” I get up to help him, and he tries to wave me away. “Just sit back and relax.”

I follow him anyway. “Just making sure we’re having more than water and alcohol for dinner,” I quip. He laughs; the sound is musical.

We chat while making dinner. It’s surprisingly easy to talk to Zen. We both love music and theatre. We compare notes on shows we’ve seen and those we’d like to. He tells me about the local theatre scene and his career aspirations. His dream role is to play the Monster of the Opera, and I think it’s because his face would be covered, so he would be judged purely on his performance rather than his appearance.

I steal sideways glances at him, and feel a tingle of electricity where our arms brush accidentally while we’re working. We sit down to eat, and he starts quizzing me. He is silent, but his eyes reflect my sadness, as I tell him about Jim, moving to the U.S., Jim’s illness, and the air of despondence that clouded my ability to work effectively after Jim died. I explain visiting Seoul on my way to see my family, and Zen listens intently, but doesn’t volunteer any more about his. He blanches a little when I tell him that Jo is a law student, but nods approvingly when I describe how Mom made sure we were well-rounded in our appreciation of art and music. He seems very interested when I relate how I joined my university’s theater troupe, and frowns when I tell him that I had to quit because Ed became too jealous when I played a romantic role. He seems to understand when I tell him how my father, a conservative lawyer, was happy I gave up my theatrical leanings, because he considered them improper.

We wrap up dinner and Zen shoos me away from the dirty dishes, so I check the chatroom. Jaehee reminds me that it is late out, and that we need to protect Zen's reputation. I peer guiltily through the window to where Driver Kim is still waiting for me.

My phone buzzes. The caller ID says it’s Jo. “Um, Zen, do you mind if I take this somewhere privately?”

“You can use my bedroom,” he offers, and nods in its direction.

I duck into the room and shut the door behind me. “Hello, Jo?”

“Mara Claire Valle-Scott, it is late." I roll my eyes. Jo and Mom always use my full name when they think I'm spoiling for trouble. "Are you still at Zen’s apartment?” she asks accusingly.

“Yes,” I admit. “Actually, I’m in his bedroom.” It has a very nice, manly, Zen-like scent to it, I think.

“WHAT?!?” I hear something crash on the other end and wince.

“I’m teasing, Jo, calm down. I asked if I could take this call privately, and he offered me the bedroom. The door is shut and he’s cleaning dinner up in the kitchen.”

“How domestic,” she says blandly. “Well, how are things?”

“What things?” I ask distractedly, checking my tea-stained skirt in a mirror.

“Chemistry things?” she inquires.

“Oh!” I exclaim in understanding. “Um, there is a definite... reaction,” I giggle. “He thinks I’m pretty.”

“Of course,” she says, as if this were a given. “MC, you’re an adult, so you can make your own decisions, but I just want to remind you not to do something you’ll regret.”

“Thank you, Jo,” I say sincerely. “I promise I won’t. Goodnight.”

I get a notification that the chatroom is active and chuckle at Seven’s new invitee to the party. A mummy? My humor turns into mortification as the conversation between Seven and Zen takes a different turn.  Seven says it’s not a bad idea for me to stay the night, “under the assumption that [Zen is] not a beast.” Shame-faced, I hurry out of the bedroom.

Zen glances over his shoulder at me, then turns back to putting dishes away. He tells me about the mummy, but I am only paying half attention, my mind still racing about the boys’ conversation. My stomach is tied up in knots. “I know it’s strange, but I think it’ll be fun if we invite it. What do you think?”

I realize he’s asked me a question. “Oh, uh, yeah, sure! Let’s invite it!” I say over-excitedly.

He dries his hands and approaches, trying to measure my mood. “You’re quite a funny person too, Mara Claire.” I blink rapidly. His voice saying my name is hypnotic. Zen checks the time. “It’s too late now, right?”

Yes, Zen, I think. It’s too late… I am falling… I manage a weak nod.

“Do you want to stay longer, though?” He looks at me intently, his eyes burning.

“If that’s what you want,” I manage to say. My voice is low, my throat dry.

He looks torn, as if debating with himself over something. “Uhm… Then stay here a bit longer." He pauses again. "I want... to show you something.” He grabs his crutches and we head for the door. I shoot him a puzzled look as we head up the steps, but instead of going out to the street, we take another flight up. And up.

“MC,” he says as we climb, “weren’t you surprised that I live in a half-underground apartment? I like this place. I’ve lived here since high school. I was barely able to pay the security deposit with the money I saved up.” We’ve reached the top floor, and head up one last narrow flight of steps to a door. “The rent is cheap, but what I like best about this place is… I’ll show you.” He pushes the door open, and beckons to me. “Come here.”

We emerge onto the rooftop. “Oh!” I exclaim. It is bare, except for some vents, a low wall, and what I can only assume are equipment boxes, but the night is clear, and the sky is a deep indigo, full of stars. “This is beautiful,” I say appreciatively. “Thank you for sharing it with me, Zenny.”

“You didn’t expect there to be a rooftop like this, did you?” he asks. He picks a spot in the middle of the rooftop, lays his crutches down, sits and pats the space next to him. “Sit here,” he says.

I do, and he raises his gaze skyward. I regard his profile, his pale features a lovely contrast to the darkness around us.

“I’m sorry for making you go so late,” he says. “I’m so happy that you came, MC. I mean it. I’d love to make you stay here with me if I could.”

I am too abashed at my own wishes, so I also turn to look up to the heavens. “I… want to stay here too,” I confess.

“I’m so happy to hear that,” he says. Then he is quiet again, as if considering something. “MC, do you think I deserve to go on with the show when my ankle is like this?” he asks.

I think about what I might have chosen, but it isn't my place to say what he should. “I trust your decision,” I reply.

“Thank you for that,” he says gratefully. “To be honest, I did brag about being able to do the show despite my injury, but I don’t feel completely good about it. I used to swear to myself never to depend on the power of money.”

I believe he’s finally going to open up about things he didn’t want to discuss earlier, so I ask, “Why?”

“It’s a long story,” Zen offers. “Do you want to listen?”

“Yes,” I say simply.

“I mentioned my brother earlier… but I didn’t go too much into it.” I nod, remembering. “I used to be really close to him when I was little. Now that I think about it, I think it was because there was a big age gap between us. We’re ten years apart. I guess he thought I was cute.” 

I smile. "Of course."

He continues. “When I was little, I never knew I was good-looking. My parents always told me I was ugly.”

I try to imagine what that must have been like, and my heart breaks for the child he was. “How terrible,” I say softly.

“They’re both really conservative teachers,” he explains, “kind of like your dad. They told me that on purpose, thinking I would be tempted by many things because of the way I look. But when I was little, their words hurt me.” I've turned back to watch him; his expression is of a lost little boy. I want to say no, they were wrong, but I don’t want to interrupt. “Thankfully, my brother always told me the truth. He told me that getting attention isn’t something bad. It can be a good thing to be popular.”

“You must have really liked your brother,” I say gently.

“Yeah, I did,” he agrees. “I thought he knew me way more than my parents. It’s foolish now that I think about it. He was much older than me… No way he could have understood me well. We started growing apart when I was in middle school. When I naturally found out that singing made me happy, I thought he’d support me, but I was wrong. He was an A student, I was the troublemaker. My parents started treating us as if we belonged to two completely different worlds." I can hear the pain his voice. "At some point, he started talking like them. He always told me that I wouldn’t get a job anywhere if I didn’t go to college. He badgered me about not understanding that my talent should only be a hobby. I felt... betrayed. I thought he understood me.”

I tilt my head to one side questioningly. “Why do you suppose he changed so suddenly?” I ask.

“My guess is he started changing after studying law. He began to believe that money and opportunity are the most important things. He called me stupid.”

I think about Mom, grateful that she allowed Jo and me pursue to our passions. “You’re not stupid,” I say quietly. “People are just meant for different paths. You’re brilliant in your field, Zen! Not everyone can do what you do. We each have our own gifts.”

He nods. “I could stand my parents not letting me follow my heart, but I couldn’t stand him belittling me, so I ran away from home when I was in middle school, wandered around and came here.” I think of myself at that age, how much help I'd still needed, how difficult it must have been for him. “I moved from one small theater company to another, and then met Rika.”

“Rika?” I ask. I might finally learn how she fits into all this.

“Yeah,” Zen replies, “she was one of my earliest fans. It’s amazing that someone like her was keeping an eye on me. I got lucky; Rika was a turning point in my life. She told me she knew a businessman who could help.”

“So did you get help?” I wonder.

He shakes his head. “No. I didn’t want to be swayed by money, so I refused. What I hated more was that Jumin’s arrogant attitude was just like my brother’s. He reminded me of my brother who always put money and connections above talent.”

I feel I understand Zen’s animosity toward a certain cat lover now. “So that’s why you don’t like Jumin?”

“Yeah,” Zen admits. “I wanted to prove that I could do well without those things--money, connections.” He turns to me and smiles shyly. “I can’t believe that I told you this much about me. It’s strange… I feel as if I’ve known you for a long time. Why do you think that is?”

His rose-colored gaze is intense, blazing; I could get lost in his eyes. “I’m not sure,” I say.

“You’re… strange,” he decides. “A stranger, but not.”

“Yes,” I agree. “We’ve only known each other for a few days, but it's easy for me to be open with you.”

He glances at my hands, clasped together in my lap. “Can I… hold your hand?” he asks, laying an open palm between us.

I gently place my hand in his. “Hold it tight,” I say, “and never let go.”

He laces our fingers together, and the contact is warm, electric. Our gazes are locked, and he starts to lean in, as if he’s going to kiss me… My eyes flutter to a close.

I feel when he pauses, and open my eyes to his lips just a few inches away from mine. He draws back. “Sorry… I can’t.” He smiles ruefully. “It’s going to be trouble if you stay the night.”

I am still dizzy from the almost-kiss. “What do you mean?” I ask.

A rakish grin splits his face. “If you can’t guess, then you don’t need to know.”

I blink rapidly, understanding dawning on me. I am grateful for the dark hiding the color that's flooded my face “Oh.”

He nods. “Sorry, I can’t help myself. I’m a guy… Just holding your hand makes me imagine what will happen in the end. You should go home before it’s too late.” He peers over the ledge to the street below. “Thankfully, the driver is still here. He can’t take you to the apartment, but he should be able to drop you off somewhere near.”  He squeezes my hand. “You have to text me when you get there, okay?”

I nod. “Alright.”

He lets my hand go to get back on his crutches, and we head for the door. “I’m sorry if it seems like I’m kicking you out,” he says apologetically.

I shake my head. “It’s fine. I can come another time.”

Zen smiles. “Even better, now that you know where I am, you can come whenever you want.” He gestures to the door. “Should we go down now?”

We make our way downstairs, out to the car. Driver Kim looks relieved, snaps to it and opens the door efficiently. “Please get in," he says.

“Goodnight, Zenny,” I murmur, before I slide into the back of the car. The driver shuts the door. I roll the window down.

Zen leans toward me. _“Annyeonghi jumuseyo,_ MC,” he whispers. The car pulls away from the curb, and I watch as he shrinks into the distance. We turn, and he is gone.

Driver Kim looks at me in the rearview mirror. “I can’t take you to your destination, but where should I take you, Miss?” I name an intersection near the apartment, then stay silent, lost in my thoughts...

My phone starts buzzing insistently. It’s Zen! I immediately pick up. “Hello?”

“I’m such a baby to call you right after I said goodbye, aren’t I?” he asks. I giggle. “You’re okay?”

“Yeah, I’m okay,” I reply.

“God… I wanted to bring you back here as soon as I sent you off,” he admits. “I can’t help but think we need more time together. I just saw you but I want to see you again.” His voice lowers. “I long for you so much.”

I lean back into the seat and close my eyes, letting his words make my imagination run wild. “I do too, Zenny,” I whisper.

“Let’s be with each other longer next time,” he proposes. “Promise me, okay?”

I nod, though he can’t see me. “Yes, okay. I promise.”

“Thank you. Keep that promise?”

I chuckle. “Of course.”

“Next time, I’m going to hold you in my arms and never let go,” he threatens lightly. “I’m not going to be responsible for anything that happens.”

“Excuse me? Is that supposed to make me want to come visit?” I tease.

“You already said yes, MC!” His voice turns rueful. “Oh, right after you left, I had an unwelcome guest. I think that heightened the fact that you were gone."

"I hope it wasn't too bad," I say, wondering who would drop in unannounced at this time of the night. "How's the ankle?"

"Great," he replies. "You're my healing potion. Do I do that for you?”

I pause, mentally poking around for the hole that is normally in my chest. It's there, but the pain is dulled. “Yes." I add, “I miss you," because I already do.

“Me too,” he says, mild frustration in his voice. “I want to throw away this phone and run out to grab you. But the reality is I don’t even know where you are… I can really understand how Romeo feels tonight.”

“Romeo?” I ask. “Why Romeo? I’m not dead.”

“I feel like my heart’s burned up and turned into ashes,” he explains. My breath catches at the intensity of his declaration. “Hey,” he continues, “what was it like seeing me in person? Did I meet your expectations?”

“Yes, and then some,” I reply.

“It was better than I thought for me. I cherished everything about you. Every one of your gestures just made my heart jump… I felt crazy trying to keep my instincts under control. I hope you didn’t hear my heart pounding. That would have been embarrassing.”

His words are poetry that make my heart dance. How does he do that? “It was _so_  good to see you in person,” I say, and sigh internally. That sounds lame in comparison.

He responds well to it anyway. “Really?” he asks. “I’m glad to hear that… I’d be sad if I was the only one excited. I’m glad you felt the same way.” He continues. “I think the night sky is especially blue today. I feel happy knowing that we breathe under the same sky. I guess this is what it feels like to see the world with completely different eyes.”

That makes me smile. “You, sir, are an incurable romantic. Please don’t ever change. And... your eyes are beautiful.” I imagine them, sparkling like tourmaline.

He sighs. “What am I going to do now? I’ve stayed in this apartment for years, but now it feels different since you’ve been here. I don’t think I can sleep tonight either.”

“Welcome to my world,” I say broadly.

“But still,” he realizes, “I’ll meet you in my dreams. Why don’t we see each other tonight in our dreams? I want to do what we couldn’t today.”

What we couldn’t do? Oh my. Don't stray too far, imagination. Mundanely, I become aware that Driver Kim is pulling over to park. “Zen, hang on, I have to get out of the car.”

“I’ll be waiting,” he says. “Don’t ever forget that I’m always waiting for you.”


End file.
